


Drabbles

by PortalPanda



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-01-21 12:14:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 8,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12457560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PortalPanda/pseuds/PortalPanda
Summary: Short, random Portal oneshots. Most will be for chelley or Pieces. Most are also Tumblr requests.





	1. Rain

Wheatley hates rain, but he loves rainy days spent with Chell.

Gray mornings are spent snuggling under piles of blankets, his arm around her waist, her face buried in the crook of his neck. They lounge in bed for hours, enjoying each other's warm and dozing to the gentle lull of the rain. It's mornings like these when the world is at its best, in Wheatley's opinion: Soft, and warm, and safe, and quiet- yes, quiet- he realizes. He doesn't mind the silence during storms; the cadence of the rain is enough to fill the silence.

When they finally rise, rainy days are spent in oversized sweatshirts. Chell makes her way to the kitchen with Wheatley in tow. While he fiddles with the knobs of the counter top radio she goes about making something warm to eat.

Later she'll open up the windows, letting in crisp air and the smell of rain. Once she's sure there are no more dinner preparations to be made Chell will settle beside Wheatley on the couch. By this point he's covered in every quilt they own. She'll giggle as he pulls her under the mass of blankets and into his lap, settling her on his chest. Wheatley holds her. He wraps his arms around her stomach and buries his face in her hair. Chell smiles at him but he doesn't see it.

Soft classical music can be heard over the sound of rain.


	2. Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this cheesy thing you're about to read.

Wheatley and Chell were walking down the hallway together when suddenly Chell was snatched away.

"Hello gorgeous," Rick purred, emerald eyes glinting as he captured Chell's wrist. "Do you have a name or can I call ya' mine?" 

Wheatley turned bright red as he watched Chell smirk. It wasn't the type of flirtatious smirk she gave him from time to time, this one read something between  _'Is this guy for real?'_ and _'I'm glad you think I'm pretty because I'm the last thing you're going to see.'_ , but seeing  _his_ Chell give someone else one of  _his_ smiles- it made something in his mindburn _._ Much to his surprise Chell looked a more than tad amused about the situation, and though her eyes were full of annoyance and disgust he was fairly certain he was the only person who noticed. That lovely, determined spark in her eyes indicated that the green eyed man in front of her may very well lose his hand if he didn't remove it from hers very quickly.

As Wheatley watched Rick press Chell's hand to his lips he couldn't help but think that he would  _love_ to watch her operate. 

Chell turned to him, something playful slipping into her eyes as she gave him a look that very clearly read  _'What are you going to do about it?'_

Wheatley gave a devilish little grin. He snaked an arm around her waist, effectively pulling Chell into his side and out of Rick's grasp.

"Yes, actually, you can." Wheatley said, taking immense satisfaction in his shocked expression. "Miiiiiiiiine!" 

As Chell yanked him down into a kiss, she couldn't agree more.


	3. The Fall

Chell's life had always been brutally unfair.

To summarize, she'd spent her entire life trapped underground. Away from sunlight, fresh air, and people. She was always trapped and alone. She was tested and taunted for as long as she could remember. There was no Before.

Against all odds she fought and won. Now she had overcome everything- twice- only to become a wreck the second she reached the surface. She didn't know how to explain it except to say that everything that had once been to her advantage seemed to suddenly turn on her.

Aperture maintained arctic temperatures that had always made Chell feel frigid and numb. The rays of sunlight that had felt blessedly warm (the only other time she'd felt so warm was when she'd nearly been cooked to death, but this was much different. This was  _nice_.) just moments before now felt suffocatingly hot. The adrenal vapor soaked air her body had become so used to was suddenly replaced with something that filled her aching lungs (in a wonderful way she'd never experienced before) but left her stomach and her muscles throwing fits.

When she tried to run from the shadow of The Shed she nearly fell to her knees.

Chell slowly pressed onward, away from The Shed, but she was acutely aware that her legs were trembling beneath her. For the first time in a long time she began to truly worry over her condition. When was the last time she had eaten? The last time she had slept?

How badly was she hurt?

Chell couldn't see- and, truthfully, didn't want to see- the extent of her injuries. She had been burned, and shot, and cut, and under the heat of the midday sun dirt, and sweat, and blood ran together into her wounds in a mixture that burned like venom. Her muscles were so overused that every move she made hurt. The blinding the light of the sun (the likes of which she swore she'd never seen before) mixed with the pain made her vision blur until she could hardly see.

And what was This? This terrible thing that made her want to fall to the ground and cry like a child? Made her want to lie down and never get back up? This horrid weight that made her want to Give Up ( _'Never.'_ )?

Life had been anything but fair, but This blew everything else out of the water. Chell was going to have beaten everything else only to die out here, alone.

_'Yes,'_  She thought, suddenly viciously bitter,  _'alone.'_

She tried to tell herself that He would only be a weight. She had been unable to carry the Cube, try as she might. It sat solemnly in the dark patch of wheat beside the Shed, and though Chell wanted it badly she knew that lugging it through the field would be virtually impossible when she could hardly carry herself. He would have been no different. She would certainly drop Him, would have to leave Him behind and listen to Him cry for her, yell at her (but then, He had already done that, hadn't He?). He would not be what she wanted, not a reassuring voice, not a friend, only a problem. The only thing he had ever been. If He were capable of anything else He would be here with her instead of a taunting, traitorous voice inside her head. If He were capable of anything else than neither one of them would be miserable and lonely.

Now they both were.

Chell trudged on for hours. Through the pain, and the voices, and the heat, she trekked alone with the sun until it too began to leave her. She wondered if she should stop. Sleep would do her good, but she knew all too well that in her condition she might not wake. Chel could hardly see now, in the light. Could she manage in the dark? What was the point of moving onward when there was nothing to move towards? She was ready to stop.

And then there was something on the horizon.

And then she was ready to go.

It might be nothing, Chell reminded herself as she forced her legs to move  _faster_ , it might be a patch of trees, or abandoned buildings, or something else that would be equally heartwrenchingly disappointing, but it was Something, it was shade, it was shelter, it was not wheat. That was a start.

Chell began to think she might not see the finish.

Her vision was fading now. The blurs of color were slowly slipping to darkness, and  _'Please,_ _no_ _,'_  She was  _so close_  to  _Something-_ she could make it, she really could, she could do it-

She got close enough to see It was a town. Silhouettes of houses could be seen against the melted sherbert colored mess of the sky. Soft, shiny music sounded from somewhere nearby and carried across the fields on the summer breeze.

It looked like heaven. It must have been.

On the outskirts of town, unnoticed, Chell fell and did not rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little something from the Pieces universe that I wanted to write after mentioning Chell's collapse in chapter 20. We may learn a bit more about my Chell's past as the fic progresses, but this was a really interesting topic that no one (that I've found) has discussed before. How does Chell adapt to conditions outside of Aperture after having lived there for so long? Everything would be different and I feel like this would take quite a toll on her.


	4. First

In late Autumn Chell made a push to get Wheatley outside more. He'd spent most of the Summer trying to figure out the whole 'human body' thing (that and the 'how to make nice with the angry lady standing in front of him' thing), so the surface was still new to him. Chell had taken him on walks through town, and they'd spent a few days across the street picking apples at the farm, but aside from that Wheatley had spent most of his new life indoors. Chell had informed him that during the Winter months it would be too cold to spend much time outside, so he'd better get out while he could.

Wheatley had discovered that reading out on the porch was a nice way to spend time outside (with Chell, and) without the involvement of any physical activity. That's where he and Chell had spent an afternoon full of utter bliss. It was sunny that day, warm but crisp. The Autumn breeze added a refreshing sort of coolness to the air, and made the falling leaves perform an intricate waltz across the sky. Back on the ground Wheatley was curled up on the porch swing with Chell. She was nestled comfortably into his side, her nose buried in a book and one of her considerably shorter legs grazing the ground now and again so the swing lulled back and forth in a calming sort of rhythm.

It was utterly peaceful. And though Wheatley couldn't remember a day this perfect in his life, for some reason, he couldn't seem to enjoy it. He couldn't focus on his book long enough to read a page. Something just didn't feel right. Something was off.

So of course Chell picked up on it.

"You okay?" She asked, glancing up at him as she turned the page of her book. Her gaze barely grazed his, but Wheatley swore he saw a mischievous spark in her eyes.

"Hm?" Wheatley looked around for a moment as if she'd been talking to someone else (Chell had no idea as to who else she  _could_ have been talking to) before flashing her an uneasy grin that he tried to play off as cheerful. "Me? Oh sure! I'm good. I am  _great_. A-okay. Right as rain."

He offered a half hearted laugh that he could tell she didn't buy.

"How's your book?" Chell asked softly.

Wheatley cleared his throat a bit too loudly. "Oh, it's um, it's absolutely marvelous. A real page turner."

"Ah." Chell gave a knowing smile. "Is that why you've been on the same page for about five minutes now?"

If he had still been a core Chell would have thought he'd somehow frozen. He sat perfectly still for a second or two before muttering an offhanded comment about being a slow reader.

Chell gave him a look that was caught somewhere between amused and sympathetic.

"Wheatley," She nestled into his side as she hooked an arm around his, and he could tell that he was really in for it now because that was her we're-going-to-have-a-talk voice. "is something wrong?"

"No, no, no! I'm fine, really."

Her tone turned a bit more skeptical. "You're sure?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm fine!" He wanted to peel her off and run away. "Why do you keep asking?"

"Because you've been very quiet tonight." Chell smiled despite herself. "Which usually means that you're thinking. Which is usually dangerous."

He faked another grin. "Very funny."

"I know." Chell gave an apologetic smile as she nudged his arm. When she spoke again her voice was softer. "But in all seriousness, you can tell me if something is wrong." (Wheatley thought it was quite the contrary. If Chell knew that something was wrong, he had to talk.)

"It's-" Wheatley stopped himself. For the first time in just about as long as he could remember, he didn't want to talk. This was something he didn't want to talk about. "It's silly." He wouldn't allow himself to meet her eyes, despite how badly he wanted to. "I'm being stupid."

At that Chell's voice turned sharp.

"Hey." Gently, but with purpose, she grabbed the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer. He couldn't help but notice that the stubborn spark in her eyes had grown to a small blaze. "You are  _not_ stupid."

He had recently learned that she would just about fight him over compliments (aimed at her) and insults (aimed at himself).

"Thanks." He gave a sad sort of smile that turned teasing as he tried (and failed) to smooth out his shirt. Chell nudged him again, giving him a serious look, and with that he gave the this-is-all-very-funny act up. "It's just that- for some reason- I feel... really bad tonight. Not like, sick bad. More like... guilty bad." Suddenly ashamed Wheatley tried to shy away from her, but her arm linked around his held him in place. He squirmed. " _Really_  guilty, actually. I don't know why, though. It's not like we've been arguing or I've made you angry- none of the usual stuff that brings it up has been going on. It's been a nice, quiet afternoon. I don't know why this just sprang on me so suddenly."

When he braved a glance at her she was looking towards town. He didn't think she was seeing it, though.

It was all too easy to forget that Chell had been through this before. Though the aftermath that she had faced was certainly not the same as his (her's was harder: she'd been badly hurt, unable to speak, and without anyone who understood what she had been through) she could relate to him more than anyone else. Or at least, he assumed so. Wheatley honestly had no way of knowing how she had handled her return to society, because he had been... elsewhere at the time.

"Emotions are strange things." Chell murmured.

At the sound of her voice something in his chest twisted (as it always did when she spoke) in a way that felt simultaneously terrifying and delightful.

_'You have no idea.'_

"Sometimes it's hard to change the way you're feeling, even if you don't know why you feel that way. But just so you know," A small, sincere smile tugged at her lips asher eyes met his. "there's no need to feel guilty anymore. You made some mistakes. We both did." Wheatley always felt a wave of relief when she said things like that. It was assurance that she didn't hate him anymore. Maybe she never did to begin with.

"The important thing is that you learned from your mistake and you fixed it. You apologized."

Chell paused, and when he tried to see if she was alright he couldn't help but notice that she was eyeing him rather strangely. Wheatley had spent enough time around her to know that she was giving him a look of calculation. He was about to call her out on it (if he couldn't get away with anything then neither could she) when she traded her testing expression for a smile. Her eyes glittered with happiness when they met his.

Adrenaline mixed with hope as somewhere a hyper little voice informed Wheatley  _This is important! She's finally going to_ do it _! She's finally going to_ say it _!_ But no, he knew better. Chell wasn't,  _was not_ \- going to say-

"I forgive you."

The gentle rocking of the swing slowed to a halt.

Wheatley had waited years (of literally doing nothing but being sorry) to hear Chell say That. He had waited for so long that he'd begun to think that it would never actually happen, and now that it had he had no idea how to react.

It felt a lot like going into overdrive. He was vaguely aware that he had buried his face in the crook of her neck, that he was laughing somewhat hysterically and his face had somehow become wet. He heard someone ask, 'You can cry from being happy?' and someone reply,'There's a first time for everything.' And _that was strange_  it seemed like their voices were getting softer somehow- but he didn't care.

Wheatley was suddenly hit with a sense of elation so strong that it  _wore him out._ For the first time in  _years_ the guilt was gone, andnothing in his life had ever felt this perfect.He had never felt such pure happiness.

Or such utter confusion.

Why was it suddenly dark?

Where was Chell?

Wheatley sat up in the darkness to find that he was in his room, alone. The clock on the bedside table informed him that it was two in the morning.

Nothing he had seen was real.

Suddenly his eyes burned and it was nearly impossible to swallow- And he wanted to cry because  _no_ , she had Said It, she Forgave him and it was  _over_ , it was  _finally over_ after  _three years it was over_  and you're telling him it  _wasn't real_? Was  _never real_  to begin with?

It wasn't real.

He had been back for a week or two. Chell could hardly stand to look at him, wouldn't speak to him, would not forgive him. Would probably never forgive him.

Wheatley had heard of dreams before, and had experienced nightmares for himself. Both were new to him, and here lately he'd been too tired and stressed to experience anything more than darkness.

When the nightmares came he would pull the blankets over his head and tell himself  _it wasn't real, it wasn't real._

Now he pulled the blankets over his head and sobbed.

He had never once imagined that a dream could feel worse than a nightmare.


	5. Ghosts

Chell's first Halloween in Horizon wasn't what she'd hoped for.

All month long the town's children had filled her head with tales of candy, and spooky stories, and costumes, and pranks, telling her that this was a wonderfully fun holiday, and begging her to participate. Secretly, she had planned to dress up and take the kids door to door in their candy collection, but now that Halloween had actually arrived she was miserable.

Chell tried to remind herself that this was a child's holiday. The ghost stories were nothing more than stories, because there were no such things as ghosts. This night was no more dangerous nor frightening than any other; and under no circumstances was anything going to snatch her in the darkness and take her away. She was perfectly safe.

There was only one problem with that argument; Chell knew that ghosts were real.

She had first seen them- first heard them- in the depths of Old Aperture.

It made Chell feel hollow to think that those halls, once so full of life, would sit empty and untouched forever. That she may very well have been the last person to walk them. That those voices, long dead, would echo through that empty tomb for eternity, and never be heard again.

Even the people who created That Place had fallen victim to it.

And they weren't the only ones.

The orange light of the jack o'lanterns scattered throughout the town (no, they weren't moving, their light was not following her), the stars- the moon- transformed her fire to ice. It had been nearly four months and she still couldn't bring herself to look at the night sky. The full moon didn't help.

_'Don't look, don't look, don't look.'_

Chell wanted nothing more than to run to her room, draw the curtains and hide until light soaked through the curtains. She could have if she really wanted to, the only problem was that, considering where she was currently living, someone was bound to see her and ask her what was wrong.

And she  _was not_ going to hide from the world she had fought for.

On Halloween night Chell didn't hand out candy, or carve pumpkins, or walk with the children; on Halloween night she ventured into the woods.

When he'd first noticed her aversion to the night sky, Michael had said something to her about stars being ghosts. He'd said that some of them were so far away that, by the time their light reached the Earth, they were already gone. He told her that beautiful things tended to be sad if you looked closely enough, but sometimes the things that made them sad only served to make them more beautiful.

Alone in the darkness, on a little hill, beneath a break in the trees, Chell looked up to find a breathtaking view to a glimmering world of ghosts. It was there, nearly hidden by the soft halo of the moon, that Chell could just make out the light of a ghost of her own creation.

And for the first time in four months of voices, and nightmares, and shame, and hate, she was not afraid.

 _'Isn't it beautiful?'_   


	6. Chase

It usually happened when they argued.

Chell would be in the middle of scolding Wheatley for something silly he had done (because he could have hurt himself doing *insert crazy activity that only Wheatley would think up here*), when she would notice that he was trying not to smile (and failing).

And that, every so slowly, he was sneaking closer to her.

Chell would back away as subtly as possible, something nervous and ticklish bubbling up in her chest as she too fought the urge to grin. This was the part where she always told him to  _stop it,_  she was being serious and  _this wasn't funny._

In turn he would ask her, why, then, was she smiling?

They would both stand there for a moment, losing their battles to keep a straight face as their eyes met, and both began to laugh with a giddy sort of tension. After a few seconds of standing stock still, Wheatley would dart at her and Chell would dash away, effectively leading to a chase through the house.

Chell was infinitely more graceful than he was, which meant that she usually managed to get away or hide somewhere else in the house while Wheatley banged his leg on a piece of furniture or tripped and fell on his face. After that, though, he could locate her easily enough by the sound of her laughter. It was uncontrollable (and who could blame her? He had sounded like a panicked giraffe plummeting to his death), an adorable stream of schoolgirl giggles that escalated to near hysteria as Wheatley scooped her out of her hiding place and toted her away.

Of course Chell put up a fight; she always squirmed, and kicked, and batted him away, but this strategy would have been much more effective if she could stop laughing long enough for her "attack" to actually hurt.

Minutes later Wheatley would deposit her on the couch, where he then proceeded to kneel overtop of her and tickle her senseless. His fingers danced along her ribs; he blew raspberries into her skin; he adorned her face with kisses. This affair would continue until Chell was in tears and both their faces were flushed with embarrassment and laughter.

When they finally managed to calm down Wheatley would give her that dorky, lopsided grin as he pressed his forehead to hers.

"Love you."

She nudged him gently.

"I know."

"But you're still in trouble."


	7. Just Kiss

Rick loved giving Wheatley a hard time. It wasn't that he disliked the guy- in all honestly he considered him a friend- but embarrassing him was fun, and far too easy.

Especially when it came to Chell.

Every core in Aperture knew how Wheatley felt about the test subject, though whether or not he himself knew was up for debate. He was always a total wreck around her: turning bright red for seemingly no reason, leaning on things that weren't there (and plummeting to the ground immediately after), tripping over his words (and just about everything else). Really, Rick didn't have to do anything to embarrass Wheatley when Chell was around; he was plenty good at doing that himself.

But here lately the adventure core had begun to pick up on something interesting in Wheatley's interactions with the test subject.

Rick couldn't help but notice that, when Wheatley's face turned red, Chell's did too (a much subtler shade, but still). When he tried to look nonchalant and instead ended up in a heap on the ground, the test subject would giggle (silently, of course), but she would also help him to his feet and make sure he was alright. When Wheatley talked himself in circles for hours on end, Chell always listened to what he had to say, and even seemed to find his ramblings endearing.

The adventure core thought this deserved a bit of investigation, so he decided to administer a little test of his own. And on one particular night he was giving an opportunity too perfect to pass up.

"Game night?"

As the adventure core plopped down next to Chell on the couch, she glanced over at Wheatley and gave him a look that clearly read  _'This was his idea.'_

Rick snorted.

"Honey, he's makin' you domestic. Look at these! These are sissy games! An adventurous lady such as yourself deserves entertainment that's a bit more... exciting. Don't you think?"

Chell crossed her arms and offered a coy smile as he smirked at her. The last time Rick had suggested they do something "more exciting" GLaDOS nearly had kicked them out of the facility for blowing up a piece of Her precious equipment.

Wheatley (who Did Not Like how close Rick was sitting to Chell) turned red as he cleared his throat a bit too loudly.

"Well then, what do you suggest we play?"

A few minutes later he was sorry he asked.

"Truth or dare?"

Wheatley squirmed.

Chell was in the room with them (looking rather adorable, he might add, as she grinned up at him from beneath the brim of Rick's hat), which meant he knew exactly what the adventure core was going to ask if he chose truth.

Not that the other option was much better.

He swallowed.

"Dare."

"Hmmm..." A sense of dread fell over Wheatley as Rick leaned back in his seat, the grin on his face turning devious as green eyes met blue. "I dare you... to kiss Chell."

There was a moment of stunned silence that was almost immediately broken by the adventure core's laughter. Rick somehow managed to keep himself from guffawing, but the petrified expressions on the pairs face were priceless.

And of course the situation became even more entertaining when Wheatley remembered how to speak.

"What?" His face was almost as red as his hair, and his voice was embarrassingly high pitched. Chell looked a bit stunned but it appeared that Wheatley was on the verge of a meltdown. "I can't- I would never-" His eyes flitted to her's for a moment, and he (as well as Rick) was surprised to find that something in their cadance was almost hurt. He looked to Rick for reassurance and found none. "I mean I-I might- I mean- It's not like I- I mean- I haven't spent a lot of time thinking about it! B-but I- She wouldn't- you wouldn't-" Wheatley felt his blood turn cold. "Um- you- you-"

Chell was standing in front of him, towering over him, her expression caught between amused and mildly annoyed as he looked up at her with terrified blue eyes. After a brief moment of smirking, she knelt down to his level. Wheatley found himself leaning away as she did so.

"P-Please don't kill me." He squeaked. Chell's eyes held a mischievous sparkle that made him want to run for the hills, but at present she was blocking his only escape route. "I didn't mean- all- all- of that stuff. I mean- I did m-mean s-some of it but I wasn't going to-to say anything about it because I-I know you don't- you don't-"

Chell grabbed a fistfull of Wheatley's shirt, and held him at eye level for just a moment before she gently pressed her lips against his. It was a soft, sweet little kiss, but it was enough to stun Wheatley into silence once it was over.

"Huh." Rick snorted as the two of them jumped (they had obviously forgotten he was there). "That's one way to shut him up."  


	8. Blood

Chell is trying.

She is trying to help Wheatley away from There, she is trying to swallow the raging torrent of emotions that is clouding her judgement, but something is wrong and she knows it.

There is a difference between his trek and hers, and the difference is that when he makes it to the road- farther than she ever did- he falls to his knees and does not try to get up. Chell doesn't know why she didn't catch him, or why she doesn't immediately lug him back to his feet, but instead of doing either of these things she steps back and watches the aftermath.

Though he didn't land that way, Wheatley lays on his side, curled into a helpless ball. His hands and knees have scraped the pavement of the road, and the noises he produces at the sudden pain- human pain- might just be the most pathetic, heart wrenching thing Chell has ever heard.

He's hysterical.

"Look at this," He makes a botched attempt at sitting up, nearly toppling back over as he does so. Wheatley holds his palms up to her, practically shoves them in her face, and in the darkness Chell can barely make out the blood that's beginning to seep through his skin. "Look at-at what She did to me!" His voice is a terrified shuddering mess. "I don't want this ! I don't want- any of this! Take- Take me back! Make Her change me back! Please lady, please! I-I'll do anything! Anything you want! Just please, p-please-"

His voice gives out as his eyes meet hers.

She isn't angry or disgusted like he expects her to be. Her eyes hold no hatred, no resentment for his words or actions, past or present.

Instead they are full of empathy and pain, and he doesn't understand either one.

All he knows is that she went back There for him despite everything he did- he deserves Nothing- and yet he still has the nerve to ask her to go back  _again_. And although they hold no malice it is written plainly in her eyes- let there be no mistake- she Will Not Return for Anything.

Wheatley droops back to the ground and sobs.

Chell doesn't say anything. There isn't anything to be said.

Despite the fact that it's well into the morning, despite how little she trusts him, despite what he has done to her, she gives him this.

She allows him to mourn.  


	9. Nurse Me

Wheatley learned very quickly that human pain was far stronger than the simulated stuff he found so frightening as a core. Oh sure, his mishaps as a core were painful enough, whether it was going too fast on his management rail and accidentally crashing into the other cores (that had actually happened more than once), or getting attacked by birds, or being scared so badly he short circuited-- not to mention the more severe (shall we say) predicaments he encountered once Chell came into his life, things like core transfers and being crushed half to death- but as a core he possessed sophisticated repair systems, nanobots, replaceable parts, the whole shabang, and so even if something did cause him pain, it was still pretty unlikely that it would actually kill him (not that he'd really thought about that at the time).

Being human was different.

Humans didn't have diagnostics, or nanobots, or replaceable parts, they had skin and bones that were far too easy to break, far too easy to damage, they had immune systems that only worked correctly about fifty percent of the time (if you were lucky), and some sort of self repair system that worked very very slowly, and even then it didn't always heal whatever was wrong completely.

Humans experienced pain on a deeper level for a longer amount of time. As a core pain was more like a metaphorical slap on the wrist, a pre programmed way for a long dead engineer to snap  _don't do that_ , to briefly remind Wheatley that he was a very  _expensive_ piece of technology, that he didn't want to get broken and cause his creators any more trouble than he already had, now did he? And that was all. Back to business. As a human being pain was much more melodramatic. It was the body's way of panicking, scolding relentlessly like a mother who had just witnessed her child do something stupid and dangerous when they knew better. The words stung because they were true.  _Are you crazy?! You could have gotten yourself killed! Look what you did!_ The little voice was accompanied by blood and nasty bruises and cuts that stayed for days, weeks, and far far longer if they scarred. These were visual reminders that  _That was stupid, You need to be more careful, You know better than that._ Human pain hurt more because it cost more, and as clumsy as Wheatley was he felt more than his fair share of it.

And yet the pain wasn't  _completely_ terrible, because, for some reason, it caused Chell to be nice to him.

Wheatley wasn't sure where exactly the two of them stood at the moment. She didn't hate him, at this point he was fairly certain of that, but she was still very cautious around him- uneasy- and though she was never really mean to him she had also made it perfectly clear that he was far from her favorite person. Chell never spoke to him (though he was fairly certain she could speak), she avoided his eyes when she could, and she tried to remain stoic whenever they were in the same room.

But when he was hurt it was almost as if she was a different person.

Wheatley had seen Chell on the warpath back There, had seen her when she was destructive and angry and murderous and nothing else. He knew how dangerous she could be. So it was a bit of a surprise, the first time he got hurt, to find that she could also be very  _gentle_ when she felt like it.

Chell would kneel beside him, assessing the damage as he squirmed in discomfort at the pain and (for some reason) her proximity. Her eyes  _would_ meet his then, and they were full of sympathy, patience, understanding, concern. _She was sorry_ , they read very clearly, and he was beside himself because that was his line. Her touch was light, the washrag she used to clean his injuries ghosting over whatever was hurt so gently he hardly felt it. Her other hand would either entwine with his or offer some small gesture of comfort as she worked, smoothing across his back or briefly tousling his hair. If ever she caused him additional pain her reaction was immediate, she would offer an apologetic sort of grimace as she backed away, allowing him a moment to recover before she went back to work. This was the only time her emotions- her expressions- were truly open.

After a few minutes the pain of his injuries would be gone, replaced with a new one that was almost pleasant as he watched her walk away. 


	10. Found

Chell takes a rasping breath as she opens her eyes.  
  
Her vision is dark and blurred but she can barely make out the stars shining faintly above her. The sight is new and otherworldly, and yet some part of Chell knows that the way the little diamonds seem to spin and flicker and swirl together is wrong. Her head hurts as she tries to look away, to focus her attention elsewhere.   
  
In places the dancing stars are blocked by towering shadows. Chell doesn't know what those are, but they're very big and, aside from her vision lapsing back and forth to double, they don't move, so she doesn't concern herself with them.

Something soft and cool itches at Chell's skin, and her fingers twitch as they grasp at these strange new commodities -  _grass, dirt_. The soft summer breeze brings her back to her senses if only for a moment.   
  
She's out. She made it out.  
  
She's  _free_.  
  
Chell's body is wracked by a joy so intense it's almost painful. There's no sound but she's laughing and crying, hysterically. For a brief moment she thinks of how strange she must look: a grown woman dressed in neon orange, sprawled flat on her back in the dirt, crying as she clutches at the grass-- which only makes her laugh and cry all the harder. And then, just as suddenly as they appeared, the stars and the grass and the dirt and the summer breeze are gone, replaced by complete darkness.  
  
She's going to die. And she knows it.  
  
Every part of her has been cut, or burned, or broken, or shot. Everything hurts. She's bleeding, badly. It's hard to breathe, and it's getting harder. She can't see. She can't move, and her voice doesn't work: she can't call for help. And, frankly, considering the location, she isn't sure she wants the help of anyone who might hear.

Chell should be furious.

After all this time she's  _so close_ to other people, to a little town and a normal life. A house. A job. Maybe even friends or a family. She's fought  _so hard_ for  _so long_ , she's wanted all of this  _so badly_ , and now that the road to it all is literally  _two yards away_ , her body is deciding to quit on her.

Chell should be furious.

She isn't.  
  
Despite the fact that she can no longer see them, Chell knows that the dirt and the grass and the sweet summer air still surround her. Of course she wanted more than this: a nice peaceful life on the surface, surrounded by people she cared about-- but if she was honest with herself, she'd never expected to make it this far. Dying beneath the stars is infinitely better than dying in a fluorescent test chamber. Dying beneath the stars isn't like giving up at all because Chell  _won_ , she's free, she got exactly what she wanted. 

* * *

  
  
"What is that?"   


The voice is feminine, soft and cautious and concerned, but Chell barely hears it. She doesn't hear the footsteps that follow, either, she doesn't see the way their owner freezes dead in her tracks when she gets close enough to see what's lying in a heap at the end of the road. There's a gasp as she shoves her husband in the direction of their house, and that's when Chell comes back to her senses.

  
"Get Sam! Get Michael!"

Chell does hear that.  
  
Suddenly she's alert. Her vision and breathing are still a mess. She can hardly see at all but what's there is badly blurred and spinning, and she can barely make out a figure slowly advancing towards her. She can't move: there's no escape.

That's when Chell begins to panic.

As if her breathing wasn't bad enough before, she's practically hyperventilating now. She can't see and she can't move and everything hurts and who is that, what is that, and what do they want, what are they going to do to her?

The figure speaks, it's voice soft and low.

"It's okay."

Chell realizes that they're trying to sound soothing, that they're trying to calm her down, and she doesn't know whether that's a good sign or a bad one. She scowls in their direction nonetheless: if they're a friend they'll forgive her. If they're a foe they'll stay away.

"I'm not going to hurt you, honey. I just want to help. That looks like it hurts."

The sympathetic tone of voice they're using almost makes Chell want to cry. She suddenly feels small and childish, as if she needs to calm down. She realizes she probably does. Emotional stability is something she's sorely lacking at the moment.

The figure pauses in its advance, stooping down on its knees so it's closer to Chell's level. Once again its voice is pleasant and sympathetic. Cautious.

"Is it alright if I come a little closer?"

The grass that made Chell break into tears minutes before is now being raked up by the fistful by her shaking hands. She doesn't know who this person (?) is or what they want, but she is  _done_ trusting people-- as far as she's concerned no one is getting close to her ever again. She is done getting hurt.

Chell's eyes burn with hatred for the woman she can't see, and in a spike of adrenaline induced fear she swings the fist closest to her in a wide arc.

She regrets it almost immediately: the pain is terrible. If her voice worked she would probably be screaming-- but her actions produce the desired effect. Though Chell doesn't hit anything the figure makes a point of stepping back. When she speaks again her voice is softer. Instead of sounding angry she's empathetic.

"That's alright. I understand."

After that the blurred figure goes quiet and the two of them sit in silence. Chell stares back up at the stars for a long time, half hypnotized by the swirling copper patterns they imprint on her vision until her face becomes wet. It starts slowly but it becomes faster and doesn't stop, tears roll down her face and her breathing is chopped and hitched with miserable sobs and it's  _pathetic_ , she's pathetic and whatever this is she can't stop it.

_Help me. Someone_ please  _help me._

Before Chell knew what had happened there was a hand in her's. The woman gently shushed her as she traced a thumb across the back of her hand.

"You're going to be okay. You're safe now. No one's going to hurt you here." Chell inhaled shakily, blinking back tears as she squeezed the woman's hand. The contact was certainly surprising but it wasn't altogether unpleasant. And at this close, if she really wanted to hurt her she would have done it already.

"You have to try and calm down, alright sweetheart? Just breathe. Hold on for a little bit longer. You're such a brave girl. You can do it."  


The minutes stretched on for what felt like hours until two beams of light cut through the darkness. Nearby two car doors slam shut, and Chell begins to panic again.

  
"Here comes help." She squeezes the woman's hand, hard. "Easy."

Hurried footsteps approach in the darkness, and momentarily they're joined by two new faces that Chell can't see.

"Are you alright, Eliza?"

The first voice is feminine with an accent that Chell doesn't recognize. She can't see very well but the blur that appears to be the woman speaking appears looks short and stout.

Eliza. Is that the name of the woman who's holding her hand? There's a voice at Chell's side as she speaks.

"I'm fine.  _She's_ bleeding."  
  
"Jesus..." A new voice breathes, "What happened to-"  
  
Chell's vision is almost completely dark now, but she sees this figure- this  _stranger-_ towering over her, too close, and  _coming for her_  and _this has happened before she knows this from somewhere and she is not letting it happen again_ -  _she is_  never  _going_  Back-  
  
Whoever he is, her feet connect with his stomach, and she sends him flying.

His companion shrieks.   
  
"Michael!"

Chell realizes rather quickly that (much like before) she shouldn't have done that. Her entire body arches in mind numbing pain at the stupidity of what she's just done. Something is very wrong: something is burned, or dislocated, or broken, and whatever it is, she's just made it so much worse. Her voice still doesn't work but some sort of strangled cry emerges from her throat as her entire body arches in mind numbing pain at the stupidity of what she's just done.

Needless to say, she hardly notices the man she knocked over waving up at them from where he landed. The woman who screamed his name when he fell must have asked him something, because when he spoke he sounded as though he were answering a question.

  
"I'm good. Winded." His voice now comes from several feet away, somewhere on the ground. For some reason the woman holding Chell's hand chuckles quietly. "I just- need a minute." The man on the ground wheezes. "Is she okay?"

Chell is decidedly not okay. She's now blindly kicking and clawing and fighting and trying very hard to get away from this new woman, who is far too close and is poking and prodding and prying right where everything hurts. But this second lady is much tougher than she looks, and for all her fighting Chell is hurting herself far more than anyone else: every move she makes feels as though she's being stabbed, whatever she injured by knocking that man over is still screaming at her, and she's starting to lose what little energy she has left.  
  
"Settle down,dear." The short woman scolds as she carefully pries Chell's hands away. "Something's wrong with her.... and she's lost a lot of..."

Chell can't tell if the woman is speaking quietly so she doesn't hear or if her hearing is the next thing leaving her.

A whistle sounds from a few feet away. She hears that.

"All that and she still managed to break some ribs." The man on the ground coughs as he hauls himself to his feet, half heartedly clutching his side. Chell can hear the smile in his voice. "She's a fighter. I like her already."

Chell decides very quickly that she does not like him. His coming closer and restraining her (ever so gently. He doesn't want to hurt her further) so his companion can more easily poke and prod her does not help. She makes this as clear as possible through aid of her knees in what Chell hopes are his now broken ribs, but he too is stronger than he looks, and he doesn't let go.

Chell's breath hitches at the sharp pinch in her arm. The man restraining her finally lets her go, seemingly concerned.

"Hey. Easy kid."

"Sorry sweetheart." Eliza squeezes her hand, hard. "It'll be okay."

"We'll fix you up good as new."

"We've got you. You're gonna be just fine."

 

Michael. His name was Michael.

 

Chell barely makes out a pair of green eyes before the world goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An important part of Pieces Chell's backstory.


	11. Pumpkin Spice

 “These are amazing!” Wheatley grinned up at Chell from the brim of his coffee cup, giving a full body wiggle of delight as he took another drink. “All  _ warm  _ and  _ pumpkiny _ .” He enthused, swinging their hands back and forth. “Tastes like fall.”

 Chell couldn’t help but smirk as they walked through the park, autumn leaves drifting around them as Wheatley rambled on about pumpkin spice. The scene was pretty picturesque, but Chell could think of one thing that would make it better.

 She eased the coffee cup away from Wheatley’s lips as she pulled him into a kiss. 

 “It does.”


	12. Parents

 Chell hummed contentedly as she and Wheatley cuddled on the couch. “You’ve gotten pretty good at the whole ‘being human’ thing.” 

 Wheatley made a skeptical noise. 

 “You think so?”

 “I do.” Chell pressed her lips together in a poor attempt at hiding a smile. Her voice turned timid. “Do you think you could help another new human figure it out?”

 “...That’s a strange--” A smiled bloomed across her face as she felt Wheatley freeze. “Wait.” He sat up, expression a mix of excitement and mild terror as she guided his hands to her stomach. “Are you-- are we--”

 “We are.”


	13. Quite a Catch

  Chell made a small noise of protest as Wheatley scooped her up off the couch and carried her towards the stairs. She’d been laying there for most of the day, battling a terrible headache and half listening to black and white movies (and Wheatley), but apparently he had deemed her too miserable for the couch and aimed to take her upstairs to her room.

  “I know,” He tutted as she gave him a half hearted glare. “But you’ll feel better if you get some rest. Sitting on the couch staring at the television doesn’t seem to be helping.” 

  Chell felt small as Wheatley carried her up the stairs, then extremely annoyed as he pretended to drop her.

  “Oh no!” He smiled down at her goofily, then sheepishly as he saw her expression. “Sorry! Sorry! ‘Couldn’t resist. Thought it might make you smile. Obviously not, though.” He gave her a particularly cheesy grin. “I’d never let you go, love.” 

 And then he smacked her head on the stair rail.

 Wheatley almost dropped Chell for real as he panicked.

 “Oh-- I’m sorry! Oh my God! Sorry! I’m so sorry! Are you--”

 For a brief moment he saw furious crystal grey eyes, and then  _ he  _ had a very bad headache. 


End file.
